


we want it all

by unholyconfessions (orphan_account)



Series: endless shades [2]
Category: Arrow (TV 2012), The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Belligerent Sexual Tension, Dancing, Drinking, Drunken Flirting, Drunken Kissing, Drunken Shenanigans, First Dates, M/M, Mentions of Threesome - M/M/M, Past Relationship(s), Tommy Merlyn is Alive and Has No Shame, Tommy and Ollie and Barry are Bros, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-25
Updated: 2015-04-25
Packaged: 2018-03-25 15:54:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,393
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3816256
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/unholyconfessions
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Four’s a party,” Tommy announces, grabbing the almost-empty bottle of tequila and tilting it in Eddie’s direction. “God bless America.”</p><p>[sequel to <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/3569657">patience gets us nowhere fast</a>.]</p>
            </blockquote>





	we want it all

**Author's Note:**

> I've always wanted to write at least _some_ level of Tommy/Barry and Eddie/Oliver. One thing lead to another and. . . this is the result. I swear, this is bordering on an M rating. 
> 
> I don't know what happened, honestly, but I live in a trashcan and there's space for everyone who wants to join. It's dirty but comfy, I promise.
> 
> My dear friend Dani approved of this, so I'm trusting her word that this is the good kind of trash. Please don't forget your seatbelts.
> 
> Enjoy! Feedback is love.

“So, today’s the big day,” Tommy says as the three of them walk into Verdant, his arms splayed out across Barry’s and Oliver’s shoulders. “Excited for your date, Allen?”

Barry ducks from under his arm, gives out a sigh, watches as Tommy and Oliver exchange a look.

“What?” he asks, making a beeline to the bar. 

He opens his mouth to order a drink but Tommy stops him with a hand on his shoulder, says, “Don’t even think about it; you’re not having any of your girly drinks tonight.” Tommy makes his way to the opposite side of the counter and helps himself to a bottle, points at it. “Tequila, baby.”

Barry looks at Oliver and Oliver shrugs, offers, “It works.”

And yeah, Oliver’s not wrong, but maybe it works a little _too_ well, Barry thinks after the third dose, when sweat’s breaking on his skin and Tommy is a little too close for comfort.

Oliver just gives them a look—a hybrid between an amused and a suspicious one, one that says _my boyfriend looks hot all over you, but do not even think about it_ and makes Barry squirm in his seat.

Barry clears his throat and glances at his watch, mutters, barely audible over the loud music, “Maybe he’s not coming.”

“He’s coming,” Oliver says, simply, which earns him a look from Tommy. After a beat, he offers, as if it explains anything, “I’ve met him. He’s coming.”

“I haven’t had the pleasure.” Tommy raises his eyebrows at Barry, offers him a smirk. “But I guess Ollie was right. _That_ ’s what he looks like in person?”

Barry turns around so fast his body sways to the side. Tommy catches him, a hand closing around his arm, and Barry swallows dry as he catches sight of Eddie walking into the club, eyes scanning the area—looking for _him_.

“Oh, god. I’m gonna throw up,” Barry says, turning back around. “I can’t do this.”

Tommy scoffs, his hand loosening around Barry’s bicep to brush against his forearm, fingers touching the inside of Barry’s wrist. 

The familiarity of the touch makes Barry look up at Tommy, words forgotten amidst a strangled breath and another as Tommy leans in close, his mouth touching Barry’s ear as he whispers, “You can do this, Barry. I know from experience.”

Barry fakes a cough as Tommy pulls away, risks a quick look at Oliver, who just raises his eyebrows at them, his eyes too clouded for Barry to make anything out of it.

“Go get him, tiger,” Tommy says with a slap on Barry’s shoulder.

Barry scrambles to his feet, adjusts his shirt as he makes his way to Eddie amongst the flood of bodies around him.

The music fades into the thumping in his chest as Eddie’s eyes finally land on him and a smirk appears on Eddie’s lips, slow and private, like this one is just for Barry.

Barry stops, watches as Eddie walks to him almost in slow motion, closes his eyes when he realizes Eddie’s crossed the perimeter of his personal space. 

His hands come up to Eddie’s face as Eddie kisses him, licking a request along the seam of Barry’s lips, one that Barry concedes with a small sound in the back of his throat. He breathes against Eddie’s mouth as they pull away, takes a step back to search Eddie’s face for something, anything.

Eddie cracks open a smile, says, “You never gave me a chance to do that the other night.”

Barry chuckles, glancing down at his feet as heat creeps onto his cheeks. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to run away like that.”

“It’s okay, Allen.” Eddie laughs. “I’m pretty sure we’re past that.”

Barry smiles, adds when the silence bounces for a second too long, “Come on, there’s someone I want you to meet.”

He takes Eddie by the hand—filing the fact that Eddie’s fingers slide alongside his in a loose weave, like they belong there, in a secluded corner of his mind—and makes his way back to the bar.

Tommy and Oliver are putting on their best poker faces as he and Eddie come around, and Barry has to stifle a flustered laugh at the way Tommy’s gaze roams over them in one slow stroke.

“Tommy, Oliver, this is Eddie.”

Oliver is quickly on his feet, a rare smile appearing on his face as he shakes Eddie’s hand and says, “Detective.”

Tommy, on the other hand, waits until the awkwardness is almost too much to finally smile and introduce himself, his hand lingering on Eddie’s like it did on Barry’s the first time they met.

Barry doesn’t blame him, not when Eddie looks like that.

“You’re Tommy?” Eddie asks, his face twisting into a curious frown as he glances between Tommy and Barry. “ _The_ Tommy? Tommy Merlyn.”

Tommy gives Barry a smile, then turns back to Eddie with a small shrug. “The one and only.”

“You know him?” Barry asks, jerking his head in Tommy’s direction.

“Yeah, you could say that.” Eddie pauses, opens his mouth. He punctuates his next words with glances between Barry and Tommy. “I’ve heard of him. And you. From Iris.”

“Oh,” Barry and Tommy say in unison, interrupted by a loud cough from Oliver.

“Oh, right, um—we haven’t—in a while, right?” Barry stutters out, rubbing the back of his neck. He glances at Oliver for some kind of support but Oliver only raises an eyebrow at him as if to say _if by a while you mean at my place last week, than yes, Barry, we_ haven’t _in a while_. He widens his eyes at Oliver and amends, “I mean, it’s not like that.”

“Really.” Eddie offers, not in a questioning tone, one corner of his mouth tipping up into a smirk.

“Four’s a party,” Tommy announces, grabbing the almost-empty bottle of tequila and tilting it in Eddie’s direction. “God bless America.”

“I think you’ve had enough of that,” Oliver says and snatches the bottle from Tommy before he can take another sip, taking one himself and then passing it to Eddie, who takes a long swallow that makes his neck look entirely too appetizing.

Oliver gives Barry a look as he takes the bottle back, his eyes lingering for a moment, making Barry swallow around his own tongue, and then jerks his head towards the dancefloor.

Barry nods, he and Eddie following in Oliver and Tommy’s track until they find somewhere they can all move freely.

Oliver takes the lead, grabbing Tommy by the waist and bringing Tommy into him, his mouth crashing onto Tommy’s before Barry has the chance to let out a breath, their bodies falling into a rhythm.

Barry wets his lips, glances at Eddie—who mimics him, only slower, his eyes set on Barry’s mouth—and allows a smile to form on his face, his fingers reaching for the front of Eddie’s shirt.

They don’t kiss, not this time, even though he’s close enough to smell the mint on Eddie’s breath, a hint of lime and tequila in it, which Barry admits to himself—with a shaky laugh—is his fault.

Eddie moves with him, like cogwheels falling into place, working in tandem, hands and fingers finding fabric and skin, clutching; noses touching, breathing in the same air; mouths chasing but not touching, not until Tommy’s and Oliver’s eyes are on them, watching, waiting.

Eddie smirks and pulls Barry into him, lets Barry take control as their lips meet and slide. Barry moans into him, alcohol and eagerness skimming over every inch of his skin, and kisses him until the music drops to a hum in the background.

He feels another—a third, then a fourth; so not Eddie’s, he thinks—hand touching his waist, travelling up his back, reaching that spot between his shoulder blades that makes him whimper.

Barry breathes out as breaks apart from Eddie, long and low in his throat, doesn’t open his eyes until he feels Tommy’s all too familiar lips on his neck, and when he does, he meets Eddie’s eyes, glazed over as Oliver nips at the curve of his shoulder.

“Tommy,” Barry chokes out, grabbing Tommy’s wrist when his hand threatens to slip under Barry’s shirt. “Not here.”

Tommy sighs, dropping his forehead to Barry’s shoulder, and asks, with a smile, “My place or Oliver’s?”


End file.
